


Rock of Ages

by gardnerhill



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Without a Clue (1988)
Genre: BAMF Women, Community: watsons_woes, Gen, Prompt Fic, Spoilers, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4417967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Without a Clue</i>’s Mrs. Hudson – she’ll make your tea AND kick your ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock of Ages

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2015 July Watson's Woes Promptfest prompt #24 _, A Long-Suffering Woman: Involve Mrs. Hudson in Watson’s whump in some fashion._

When that awful actor came striding back through the door and up the stairs – every bit the masterful Mr. Sherlock Holmes of the Doctor’s stories – and shouted “The game is still afoot!” to me and Miss Giles, that was the exact moment I knew things had changed.  
  
That terrible evening was the lowest point I’d ever known – heartbroken at losing poor Dr. Watson, a good tenant and a good man, in such a tragic manner; afraid of what that wicked Professor might do to the household now that he’d killed our protector; utterly horrified to think of that drunken layabout Kincaid being our only hope; sorrowful that poor Miss Giles would never know her father’s fate now.  
  
But Kincaid came back from the pub, afire with purpose not whisky, and soon we were all up in the main room of 221b whilst he strode in front of the blackboard, scrawling and erasing ridiculous theories. Yet I couldn’t fault him; he’d truly cared for the Doctor, you could see that, and it was clear he meant to make right what he could, even though he was an actor and not a detective. But it was him being an actor that solved it – that, and that street-urchin Wiggins finding the half-printed five-quid note, and soon it sent us all to the Orpheum Theater.  
  
Yes, “us.” Much to my own astonishment I found myself bustling along with an actor and a street-rat heading toward a dangerous murderer, with nought but an umbrella for a weapon – I, who kept a good respectable Presbyterian household!  
  
But I’d seen the change in Mr. Kincaid. He was terribly afraid of Mr. Moriarty, but resolute. And in that fiery eye I saw a reflection of my own Scots rage. We couldn’t save the dear Doctor’s life, but by the Lord we’d avenge him. (I never even noticed that I gripped my old brolly as if it was a claymore.)  
  
Well, I wouldn’t repeat that night if you paid me a thousand pounds. Everything was topsy-turvy and upside-down – a dead man alive again (to our astonished joy), a mouse become a roaring lion, a middle-aged landlady turned warrior, a damsel in distress who was actually a villain (I did feel better about coshing Miss Giles when I discovered that), a man become a maid.  
  
But the greatest change, after all that happened, was to see the difference in how those two men looked at each other.  And that was when I knew that this was not Sherlock Holmes’ last case, but the true beginning of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson's partnership.  
  
I applauded with Wiggins and the reporters and all the people outside 221b for Dr. Watson, and for them both. But soon I was back inside, calling for the girl to sweep the front step and wash the windows, setting the kettle on and starting breakfast after a very long night for all of us. Even if one has behaved heroically the night before, standards must be maintained.


End file.
